Impa smiled at the mare as she admitted to the cold, and congratulated herself internally. She had had a long time to learn the tricks of social nuances and how to manipulate them, but they served her well. Impa was very good with her words most of the time. She continued walking as Derry fell into step beside her and for a time let the sounds of their hooves crunching through snow and the light phflufing sound it made as it fell from the front of her feet occupy the space between them.

Derry’s words fell hard like the moonlight that glanced back up from the snow and illuminated the mountainside. “This is true,” Impa murmured in the calm that followed her statement. The mountain was a metaphor. Impazienza hadn’t thought of it like that before, but once it was put into words she liked it. Why else would she venture to the top and stand where she could see so much of the Crossing and the ocean beyond? It was a height to be reached and surmounted, a goal to achieve. The top of the mountain was hers, was every mare’s, and she almost stopped and turned around to lead Derry back up so that she could stand at the very top and see it all for herself.

In a couple of weeks when the snow was all gone would be a better time for a trip back up the mountain. After all, the summit wasn’t going anywhere. The left side of Impa’s mouth crooked upwards in a half smile as the Arabian spoke again, and the words that fell from her mouth were as decisive as a smith’s hammer at the forge. They stoked stoked a fire in Impa that the black mare had left untended for too long, and reminded her of her purpose on the Peak. It was not to confront her sister or deal with the age-old drama of her family that had only recently been unearthed: it was to serve and protect the mares of the islands, to monitor the actions of stallions and to interfere when necessary.

“This is certainly the right place for you then, Derry,” Impa said as she felt hard rock beneath her hooves. There were patches of snow littered about the rocky mountainside but most of it was uncovered stone and grass. Further down there would be nothing but damp earth beneath their feet, and the consistent harbinger of spring: mud. “This mountain is for mares. We rule it, we protect it, and we take care of each other. We are an unconventional herd but we are a herd just the same. The difference is, Derry, that we may strike back at those who hurt us and others. A stallion might think to himself, ‘oh, what a difficult mare,’ when a member of his herd opposes him, but when a mare from the Peak comes calling, he is more inclined to pay attention and perhaps give greater consideration to how he might have erred. I dream of a day when band mares are not so easily dismissed, but I know that is a distant future. Still, it is a future I can help to build and I will do everything within my power to achieve it.”

It had been quite some time since Impa had given such a speech, and she flicked her gaze toward the gray mare to see how it would be received.